HCAW 100

Chapter 100: A Heart’s Inch, a Wave’s Crest

A cool breeze brushed against his face, like soft fingers stroking his skin. His limbs felt heavy, as if pinned beneath a massive millstone.

In a remote corner of the xian mountains, Zheng Deli suddenly shuddered and slowly regained consciousness. The moment he opened his eyes, he beheld an elegant six-tiered coffered ceiling, draped in sky-blue fabric, inlaid with gold, and painted with celestial constellations. Glancing to the side, he realized he lay within a hexagonal pavilion surrounded by a vast, mirror-like lake, its surface shrouded in mist and waterlight.

Holding his aching head, Zheng Deli slowly sat up. His memory, like a weary bird, gradually returned. He remembered that before losing consciousness, they had set sail by sea, only to be caught in a storm. By sheer luck, he had not drowned but had been tossed ashore by the waves, clinging to life. Though scraped and bruised, none of his injuries were serious.

But where was this? Zheng Deli was full of doubt. Suddenly, a calm voice came from behind him:

“You’re awake.”

Zheng Deli turned to see a white-robed woman standing atop a stone pillar outside the pavilion. Her robes were embroidered with a starry diagram of the eastern heavens in silver thread, glimmering faintly. Her skin was pale as autumn frost and bright moonlight; black hair, red lips—she looked like a beauty straight from a painting. Yet her gaze was hollow, like a delicate puppet.

“Yes. Thanks to Miss’ rescue, this humble one owes you his life. I am deeply grateful. Might I ask where this place is?”

The white-robed woman quietly replied, “Fanghu.”

Zheng Deli’s eyes narrowed. Looking around again, he realized his luck had been extraordinary—he had arrived at their original destination. The shimmering lake, vast and boundless, matched the descriptions of Fanghu precisely. He asked again, “And the others?”

“When my people found you, you were the only one on the shore,” she said blandly.

A weight dropped in Zheng Deli’s chest. Had he alone survived, while the others had all perished in the sea? He scrambled to his feet and bowed deeply. “For saving my life, I owe a debt beyond repaying. May I ask the lady’s name?”

Without emotion, the woman turned her back and said,

“You may call me Bai Huan Guard.”

An east wind rose, rippling the lotus-covered lake. Zheng Deli stood stunned, watching her elegant figure drift along the gallery corridor. Bai Huan Guard was ranked fourth among the Immortal Mountain Guards—a person of great stature. Her words, light as feathers, lingered in the breeze: “Come with me.”

Though his body still ached, Zheng Deli hastily dragged his steps and stumbled after her.

They passed through winding galleries above the water, lake and sky mirrored as one, with misty mountains layered in ink. From time to time, gulls and herons flew by, parting the water in rippling fans. The wind was cold, reaching deep into his bones. Walking behind her, Zheng Deli said softly, “Lady Bai Huan, I haven’t yet introduced myself…”

“No need. I know you. Zheng Deli, son of the supervisor of the Astronomy Bureau in Penglai. You escaped through the Penglai Heavenly Pass, passed through Yingzhou, and have now arrived here.”

Zheng Deli turned pale. “How… how do you know that…”

Bai Huan Guard said calmly, “It’s written in the ‘Heavenly Book’.”

By the lake stood a library pavilion, with flying eaves and black-glazed tiles, shaded by verdant trees. Bai Huan Guard led him inside. Her every movement was measured, as if each step had been calculated. The library was cool and silent, star maps on the ceiling, books as vast as a sea.

She stepped onto a cedarwood ladder and retrieved a thick tome. The cover was brocade patterned with rippling waterbirds; inside were large bone plates engraved with oracle script. The woman looked at Zheng Deli coolly, as if seeing through him: “This is the ‘Heavenly Book,’ a chronicle left by historians during Emperor Bai’s reign. All things that happen in the Xian Mountains are recorded here. You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?”

Zheng Deli’s gaze landed on the bone plates and trembled. “This… this is the ‘Heavenly Book’ left from Emperor Bai’s era?”

So the bone piece his father gave him, with its records of future events, was actually an ancient historical chronicle. He groped instinctively for the pouch at his side, only to remember it had been lost to the sea. Bai Huan Guard said, “No need to search. The shard you carried has already been added to this book. And you must already know what it foretold.”

As she opened the tome, Zheng Deli saw the very bone his father had given him, now bound among the others. He recalled the lines he had deciphered and turned pale. “May I ask, Lady Bai Huan—why does that bone piece foretell the future?”

“The ‘Heavenly Book’ spans all of time. Everything that occurs within the Immortal Mountains is recorded within it,” she said quietly. “Even this very conversation between us is clearly written. I knew you would come here. I knew you would awaken today.”

“Then… all that it records must come true?”

She nodded.

Zheng Deli suddenly felt dizzy, his breath quickened. The walls of books and beams seemed to reel before him. He knew what the shard said—if it truly came to pass, it meant they would tread a path soaked in blood and tears.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You’ve read the Heavenly Book. You must already know,” she said softly, standing before a vast wall of scriptures that made her seem small. “According to the Book, one person will break through Daiyu’s gate and reach Guixi.”

“Yes. I’ve read that line. But because the shard was broken, the details were unclear…”

Bai Huan Guard said, “Did you notice? Only one person—will leave the city.”

A chill surged from Zheng Deli’s feet to his crown. The walls of books seemed to collapse and crush him. Bai Huan Guard continued, tone quiet as before: “All others will die within Daiyu’s gates. Emperor Bai’s son and all his companions… will go no further.”

A pale hand gently touched his shoulder, yet it felt heavier than a mountain. Her words struck him like a needle to the brain.

“I’ve waited long for this moment—for you to arrive.”

The east wind picked up, as cold as knives. Bai Huan Guard spoke with unflinching calm:

“Zheng Deli, you are the one—the Heaven’s chosen—destined to leave Daiyu and pass through the taoyuan gate.”

_____

In front of Jinshan Temple, calamity erupted.

Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang watched in horror as the black humanoid, bound on the ironwood altar draped in a Buddhist robe, suddenly expanded. Tentacles that had been severed by the vajra cleaver shot outward, smashing the monk’s face to pulp!

Screams rose. The other monks stood frozen in shock. The shadow moved with lightning speed, killing several in an instant. Frightened devotees scattered in chaos. Then, the black figure lunged toward Fang Jingyu and Chu Kuang.

At that moment, Fang Jingyu swiftly drew his sword. Its blade gleamed like snow on a mountain peak, slicing through the shadow’s form. After a flurry of strikes like pounding rain, the figure collapsed into black sludge, seeped into the ground, and vanished without a trace.

Bodies littered the temple front. Fang Jingyu stood gasping with his sword, still shaken. He didn’t know if what he had done was right or wrong—only that seeing Chu Kuang in danger had moved him to act.

A terrified devotee, having crawled several paces, stammered in fear, “Q-Quick, catch it! If it escapes to the countryside, there’ll be more killings!”

Chu Kuang walked over and yanked him up by the collar. “What are you talking about? What killings?”

The devotee, pale with dread, answered, “The killer loose in the outskirts lately—it’s those escaped ‘Immortal Elixirs’ that are murdering people!”

“Was it not you who were in the wrong first, slicing into their flesh and blood?”

“They’ve always had a taste for human flesh. It was Lord Gu Bi Guard who suppressed them and drove them into Yuanqiao. The truly violent ones were used to harvest life essence and made into ‘Immortal Elixirs.’ But lately, they’ve grown increasingly savage—we can barely hold them down!”

Chu Kuang said coolly, “So the murderous culprit was these black-mud fiends.”

He let the devotee go and walked back to Fang Jingyu’s side. “What now, Your Highness? You heard it too. These black, mud-like figures seem to be different from the monks we met in the ancient monastery at Yuanqiao—they’re the ones wreaking havoc now. If we’re to track them down, we’ll likely need to patrol the outskirts.”

“Then let’s go,” Fang Jingyu nodded, though doubt stirred within. Back in Yuanqiao, the monks had treated them with kindness—if those black figures shared the same origin, why were they so vicious now?

They packed rations and white travel coats. After some time in Daiyu, they found the place even colder than Penglai. At night, endless snow often fell in great sheets.

The two of them slung their packs and set off for the outskirts. They wandered far and wide without any success and eventually lost their way. Night fell quickly, with only a sliver of moon embedded in the sky. A chill wind sprang up, and fine snow began to drift. Low clouds hung heavy, and wild trees stretched in the dark like thick black bristles.

They came upon a small field hut, probably used by farmers for midday rest, though it had long since fallen into disrepair.

Inside, Chu Kuang unstrapped his iron pot, gathered dead branches, lit a fire, hunted a rabbit, fetched water from a nearby stream, and boiled a pot of soup with winter greens—it was surprisingly flavorful. Fang Jingyu counted their remaining rations with worry. Hunting down the culprit was no easy task; who knew how many more nights they would have to spend in the wilderness.

Seeing the worry in his eyes, Chu Kuang said, “Don’t fret, Your Highness. If we run out of food, I’ll slice meat from my own leg to feed you. I heard someone did that once in the Nine Provinces.”

Fang Jingyu looked at him—Chu Kuang was serious. In the firelight, his double pupil glinted, obedient like a loyal yellow-eared hound. Fang Jingyu’s heart softened. “Boasting again. Would you really do that?”

“I would. And I could.”

Fang Jingyu narrowed his eyes. “I’m not as stingy as you. If you’re starving, you can eat whatever part of me you like—not just the leg.”

Chu Kuang huffed, “You’re all iron bones—it’d break my teeth.”

“You’re all rib bones—not much meat. Disgusting to eat.”

At that, the two burst into anger. What had been a peaceful talk turned into a scuffle. Chu Kuang lunged, and they fought over the skewer of roasted rabbit meat, biting and wrestling like wild animals.

Eventually, their tussling wore down. Fang Jingyu pinned Chu Kuang, his face marked with bite marks, and said sternly, “Enough fooling around! I have a question.”

Chu Kuang eyed him warily. Fang Jingyu locked eyes and asked seriously, “Why do you treat me so well?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Think about it—we barely knew each other. You were the ‘King Yama,’ and I was a Xian Moutain officer sent to hunt you down. We were supposed to be cat and mouse. So why did you risk your life to help me escape the Penglai Heavenly Pass?”

Chu Kuang’s body suddenly stiffened. After a long pause, he mumbled, “Because… I… I wanted to get out too.”

“Then wouldn’t your chances have been better if you escaped alone?” Seeing him fall silent, Fang Jingyu pressed harder. “And in Yingzhou—why did you risk yourself for me, even letting Yu Ji Guard smash half your body to pieces?”

Chu Kuang snapped, “That old chicken bastard was my enemy! I only protected you for a better shot at victory!”

“Then why are you still here now, following me all the way to Daiyu? Don’t tell me it’s just to beg for your monthly wages. If that’s true, then I paid two taels of silver for a loyal right-hand man?”

“What are you trying to say?” Chu Kuang growled, losing patience.

Suddenly, Fang Jingyu grabbed him by the shoulders, stared into his eyes, and demanded, “Who are you to me, that you would risk everything again and again to save me?”

The words struck like a dagger, tearing through Chu Kuang’s pretense. Each of Fang Jingyu’s direct attacks left him speechless. The wintergreen soup simmered in the fire, adding to the restless tension. The low hut felt more like a courtroom.

Finally, Chu Kuang turned his head, then stammered awkwardly, “I… I’m not anyone to you.”

“If you’re no one to me, why follow me so faithfully? Isn’t that even stranger?”

Fang Jingyu watched him, waiting for him to admit the truth. But suddenly, Chu Kuang turned back, drew a deep breath, and lashed out in desperation:

“I’m… I’m a retainer of the Langgan Guard!”

Fang Jingyu was stunned.

Chu Kuang crossed his arms. “Your father sent me to watch over you. I’m a plant! He ordered me to escort you to Guixu, so I’m just doing my duty. That’s all!”

It sounded absurd—but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Back when they left Penglai, Langgan Guard hadn’t seemed surprised to see Chu Kuang guarding him. If anything, there was warmth in his gaze.

Fang Jingyu had no words. While he puzzled it over, Chu Kuang took the chance to snatch back the rabbit meat and gnaw it triumphantly.

Later, when they unrolled thick coats and lay down side by side, Fang Jingyu’s thoughts still tangled. Chu Kuang, seeing that he wasn’t pressing further, was pleased and closed his eyes smugly.

The moonlight trickled through the wooden slats, glinting like silver sand. The fire crackled quietly. Fang Jingyu lay wrapped in his travel coat, increasingly uneasy.

For some time now, he and Chu Kuang had been locked in a clumsy game of offense and defense. He tried to unmask Chu Kuang, who in turn scrambled to hide his truth. And though his methods weren’t subtle, Chu Kuang was by far the most difficult suspect Fang Jingyu had ever dealt with.

In the end, he decided to go all in.

He leaned over Chu Kuang, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around. Chu Kuang flared with annoyance. “What are you doing!”

Fang Jingyu cupped his face and kissed him deeply—lips locked, breath tangled, sweet and slow. Chu Kuang went stiff as a board. They kissed like the world was falling apart. Chu Kuang let out a strangled sound like a startled cat, sending a shiver through Fang Jingyu.

Finally, he let go, leaned close to his ear, and whispered over the crackling fire:

“Do you want to do it?”

“D-Do what?” Chu Kuang’s eyes went wide. Fang Jingyu smirked. “The same thing we’ve already done twice, remember?”

Only then did Chu Kuang realize what he meant. His face flushed red to his ears. “You’re insane!”

“What’s insane about it? Sex and appetite—human nature,” Fang Jingyu said. “You’re the one who always pounced on me. Now you’re shy?”

This bold strike hit its mark—Chu Kuang’s face flushed red as cinnabar, just as Fang Jingyu expected. Chu Kuang mumbled, “It was beyond my control”

In the moonlight, his eyes sparkled like snow, full of hesitation and sorrow. Fang Jingyu leaned in again. “What desperation? We’ve done it before. You are not related to me. Are you my brother? Is it against reason for you to do things for me?”

Chu Kuang trembled violently.

Sensing victory, Fang Jingyu smiled. He had no proof, just suspicion, but maybe—just maybe—this pressure would force a confession.

So he pushed harder: “You’re stammering. You’re not really my brother, are you?”

Chu Kuang shook with rage. Fang Jingyu softened his tone and whispered:

“Brother.”

And then, in the next instant, Chu Kuang suddenly sat up, yanked off the blanket, grabbed Fang Jingyu by the collar, face blazing red, and roared:

“What nonsense are you spouting?! You want to do it? Fine! Who’s scared of who! I’ll do it with you!”